


Tainted Love

by beastieboys



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastieboys/pseuds/beastieboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silence is Violet's only weapon against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once I Ran To You

She's sitting outside in between two columns, cigarette in hand, twirling it lightly between her fingers as she blows out the smoke from her last breath. She doesn’t even know where she got cigarettes from anymore, but she assumes it has something to do with Constance, for she finds new packs in her purse whenever she smokes her last cigarette in the box. The old woman probably does it for Tate, honestly. How else do you regain the love of your only beautiful son, than by giving the love of his life (death) what she wants? Violet could stop smoking anytime she wanted, her body probably no longer has a nicotine addiction since it’s been rotting for almost a year now. Though, now that she has no risk of cancer, what’s the point of stopping? Sure, it’ll save Constance a few bucks, but she owes them several favors either way.

She can feel Tate watching her. She doesn’t even turn to shoo him off anymore. Goosebumps roll through her body from her arms, and she would like to blame it on the slight chill of early March, but she knows it’s him who still gives her a feeling of sorrow and longing. Violet would never admit she was still in love with him, because she’s not; she’s in love with her memories of him. She’s in love with the Tate who would let her win at Scrabble, the Tate who would lay in her room --their room-- with her late at night, talking about death and the stars, even though they couldn’t catch but a glimpse of them through the window, the Tate who tried to keep her alive. Violet takes another drag and lets the tobacco residue settle in her mouth before she tilts her head back and blows it out softly.

He’s still the same Tate, the same, sweet boy. The same boy who told her how to cut her wrists. Who murdered innocent teenagers. Who murdered the gay couple. The same boy who raped her mother while wearing a rubber sex suit. And now that demon born child is living next door. She can hear his cries sometimes, late into the night, erratic and angry.

The cigarette is to the stub, ashes falling to the ground when she taps it for the last time and drops it to stomp it out. Violet picks up the remnant and puts it in her pocket to throw into the trash later. She can see Tate out of the corner of her eye, sitting criss-cross on the ground and plucking grass out with his fingers. He rips the pieces into shreds and tosses them on the ground again. Violet never turns her head to look at him, but she can see his head go to glance up at her before it goes back down to the grass.

At least she gets to sleep in her room. No one ever tried to take it away from her. Maybe because she’s freshly dead, and whenever --if ever-- the new family moves in and dies, she might have to live in the walls like she supposes everyone else does.

She can’t live in the walls.

Her mind wanders to thoughts of Tate sleeping in her bed with her as she opens the front door to the house. She pauses after the door creaks open. She would never admit it, but she misses the warmth of his embrace.

_No, Violet, he raped your mother._

Her steps on the hardwood make dull clunks that cause her to flinch. Any sound can attract one or more of the seventeen or so other ghosts inhabiting this stupid house. She leans down to take the shoes off. It’s then that Violet realizes she technically doesn’t even need to walk upstairs to her room. She can just appear there. But that only reminds her that she’s dead, which is depressing. For a good part of her life, she wanted to be dead, but now that she is, it sucks.

She continues walking, up the stairs and into the ever familiar room, but not without catching a glimpse of blond hair in the crack of the open door. She closes it. Her stereo and iPod still function, thank God, and she puts on a playlist and takes a book from under the bed where it was so rudely shoved last time. Violet tries her best to read, she really does, but she can feel his presence just outside of the door, waiting for her to give an OK for him to come in and meet her gaze for the first time in months. She can’t give into that. But as she stares at her ceiling, remembering, she sighs. She could literally talk to any other inhabitant of the house if she could find them. They’re not who she wants, though, in all honesty.

“Come in.” He doesn’t even enter the room through the door. Violet turns around and he’s there on the bed, looking at her like he was seeing the sunset for the first time. His mouth is slightly open and she glances at his lips. She’s not ready for that.

“I’ve missed you,” he says. Violet can’t look him in the eyes anymore. She looks at a spot right above his head and says nothing. What on earth could she?

_Hey, I know you stuck your dick in my mother and got her pregnant, but it’s cool._

_I get that you’re a murderer and all, but can we have sex again?_

_You cheat at Scrabble. And every other game we played._

So Violet just goes with a simple, “Yeah.”

She can see the wistfulness in his smile. He wants her to say more, Violet bets, he wants to hear her voice. She wants to give that to him, but her mind is devoid of all words concerning him. Well, maybe she has a few choice ones, but she isn’t going to say those. Tate watches her hands as she fiddles with her fingers. He seems impatient.

“I never told you why I did it, you know.” says Tate, his eyes burning a hole in between Violet’s eyes, even though she has been glancing everywhere around the room except into his. She plays the idiot card.

"Did what?" Violet can see the hesitation in his eyes, the words on the edge of his lips.

"I raped your mother." It felt like someone had taken her voice away. The words he said replayed in her mind, over and over, taunting her even though he never said it that way, if anything his voice was dripping with regret.

_Dripping like the blood from those kids he murdered._

Violet still can’t find words, so Tate speaks up again. “She wanted a baby. Her husband, he mutilated theirs.” says Tate, and Violet’s forehead crinkles with confusion.

“Who?”

“Nora,” he replies, as though Violet can remember everyone in this stupid house who kicked the bucket. She decides to ignore the name for now, and instead focuses on what he originally said.

“She wanted a baby, so you impregnated my mother to give her one?”

“Yeah,” says Tate, “I owe her a favor.”

"Must be some favor." mutters Violet, low enough to where she hopes he can't hear, but considering he's almost popping her personal bubble, she assumes he did.

"Yeah." he replies, almost just as quietly. When Violet doesn't say anything else, he continues.

"When I was little, I found her son by accident, while I was trying to get my toy truck from behind some stuff in the basement. He scared the shit out of me, but then Nora was there. She told him to go away, and he did. She showed me how to send away all the ghosts."

Violet looked into his eyes for the first time since he was invited in the room. _That's how he knew._ But then she realized: _she used that trick to get rid of_ him.

She swallows.

The sun is setting on the horizon, and the colors of the sky change outside of her window. Violet is weary; she wants to sleep. "You can sleep in here tonight, if you want. But only tonight." she says to Tate, who has been laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She untucks the covers on her side and slips under. She faces the side of the bed Tate isn't on.

Tate untucks his side as well and crawls under the covers. He scoots closer to her, until Violet warns, "Don't." He backs away and rolls over.

She wakes up in the middle of the night to his arms around her and his head nuzzled in her neck. She feels like she's suffocating, but his breath is so peaceful on her back. She knows she has to wake him up. She can't be that girl who lets boys take advantage of her.

"Tate," she whispers, shaking her body to try and jiggle him awake. Violet feels his eyelashes brush against her shoulder as he opens his eyes. She turns the best she can and looks at him.

"Move back." Tate frowns, but does as she wishes. The last feeling she gets before she falls asleep is guilt.


	2. Now I Run From You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alone" is not in Tate's dictionary, it seems.

Violet visits her rotting body sometimes. It hasn’t been moved since Tate pulled it into the basement. It’s probably unhealthy for her to watch herself decompose and forever be part of this house, at least, until someone finds her body, which, based on the other people still in this house, will probably never happen. She doesn’t care about that too much, though. She’s got her parents, and a few friends here, like Beau, and Travis maybe, and…

At least she has her iPod.

She could have gotten out of this house. She could have run away, but instead she killed herself, _stupid, stupid, stupid._ Tate tried to save her, he knew her fate would forever be in this house if she died. Violet bets he partly wanted her to die, so she could be with him forever, but he let his knowledge of _if you love someone, let them go_ dominate and honestly wanted her to be free. He wanted her to get out of here because he loved her. He would give up his love to let her have a life outside of this house, or, rather, a life in general.

 _Rape! Murder!_ Violet’s head reminds her before she can travel down this path of nostalgia. She sighs and taps her fingers on the wooden beams of the basement. A maggot wiggle’s out of her remains, and she feels like she’s going to throw up.

“They’re disgusting, aren’t they?” a voice says from behind her and it’s Tate, wearing his _Normal People Scare Me_ shirt, which only reminds Violet of that night he scared the shit out of that girl who ended up being her friend for a while.

So much for that.

“Yeah,” Violet replies, as nonchalant as she can get without sounding like she absolutely wants him to leave (though she does).

“When I first…” Tate drifts off, but she gets what he’s talking about, “I would sit in the backyard, wishing so badly I could visit my grave.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Remember when you found out you died, and you couldn’t leave the house, no matter which way you went?” Tate asks, pulling himself beside her and sitting criss-cross, like he seems to always do.

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that. Eventually the house lets you on the grounds, but no one can see you. You can’t cause a huge disturbance because you’re out in the open.  We can only leave on Halloween, and even then, we can’t _really_ leave. Either way, I have no idea where or if I'm even buried.”

Violet lets those words sink in.

“That’s shitty.” she says eventually.

Tate nods, and neither say anything for a while after that, they just watch Violet’s skull become the home of more and more maggots until Violet can’t stand it anymore and stands up.

“I gotta leave.” she explains, though she knows she doesn’t have to explain anything to a murderer-rapist-murderer.

“Where to?”

“I need something to eat.”

She hopes Constance also thinks to leave food in the fridge sometimes, or at least in the cupboards, something that won’t go bad. Everyone in this house has certain worldly things they can’t let go of. Sex, drugs, food, sleep. Whatever it is. Violet’s depression kept her from eating when she was alive, just another thing she regrets.

“I’m coming with you.” Tate says, standing as well.

“Please, don’t.” Violet replies.

He respects her wish, but she can see the remorse on his face, tears threatening to leave his eyes.

Crybaby.

She immediately regrets thinking that. He cried when she died, didn’t he? His tears graced her body when she kicked the bucket, so she should respect him.

_No, that’s bullshit._

The kitchen is empty, save Moira, who _really_ can’t seem to find anything better to do than clean. She almost trips over the old woman, who is cleaning the floors with a sponge.

“Constance was here with that _demon_ child of hers.” Moira says before Violet can even let her presence be known.

“I’m sorry you have to clean all the time.” Violet replies. Constance wasn’t right to kill her and bury her in the backyard, considering she only actually was part of her husband’s cheating behavior once. She could have had a life, too, she didn’t even live here. Violet assumes she was beautiful.

"Is there anything in the fridge?" Violet asks her, walking towards the device.

"You'd be lucky if there was." Moira mumbles.

Violet opens the fridge door and there's nothing. A crumb. She shuts the door harder than she means to. She checks the cupboards: rotting bread, some crackers with ants all over them.

“Ew.” she mumbles, shutting the cabinet rather harshly.

“We can leave her a note,” Tate says when Violet turns around. “On the window, she’ll see it eventually.”

“You’ve got to quit doing that!” Violet exclaims, her heart beating in a frenzy.

“Moira, do you have any paper on you?” Tate says, and then glancing at Violet, adds, “Sorry.”

“Check Ben’s old office.” the maid replies.

Tate starts to walk out of the kitchen, until he realizes Violet isn’t following him. He turns back to her, who has her arms crossed and is staring at the floor.

“Come on, Violet.” he says.

“It’s fine, I don’t want food anyways, not for all this trouble I have to go through just to get it.” Violet says, and by that, she means, _Fuck off, Tate._

He doesn’t get the memo.

“It’s easy! Constance will get us some chips or something. It’ll be worth it!”

“No.”

“But--”

“No. I’m going to my room.” Violet says, looking him in the eyes. “Don’t follow me.”

Tate gives his sad eyes again. She walks up the stairs alone, as she has for three months, until a few days ago, when she invited him into her room. Violet feels regret, but for what? She has no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a little thing I wrote offhand, but it seems to be working out pretty well, so I will continue it as long as I feel I can add to it. Bear with me; I have no idea how this will end, or whether it will be good or bad. But I can tell you this: no one will die. (Ha get it) Thanks for reading!


	3. This Tainted Love You've Given

Does one dream while dead? This is the question Violet has been asking herself lately, ever since Tate has been growing closer to her again. Could it be one elaborate dream, one she can awake from any moment, still dead, but away from him? Ah, wouldn’t that be nice.

As of late, she’s become more... _keen_ to his presence. She doesn’t make him leave anymore, and they talk sometimes. She can see the regret and love in Tate’s eyes, in those ever-present tears that are always threatening to come out if she doesn’t respond to him or give him the answer he wants. It’s not like that stops Violet, though, she just looks down at her feet if she thinks he’s going to start crying.

Maybe she’s exaggerating. Maybe Tate doesn’t cry a lot, it just happened often around her before. Either way, she can’t deal with it.

There’s nothing to do in this stupid house. No _wonder_ Moira cleans all the time, and Nora wanted a baby, and Hayden and Travis have sex, and Tate was so drawn to her when she arrived. She must have been the first girl “his age” to live here since he died. Is that why he has taken to her so much?

That would be so shitty, but make so much sense.

Violet could ask him about it. How would that even work out?

_Hey, Tate, I know I’m still super mad at you for raping my mom and stuff but like, do you only love me because I’m a teenage girl?_

She rolls her eyes at herself. That sounded so dense.

The attic steps creak when she walks up them, and she turns her head left and right to make sure no one is following her. Violet likes to visit Beau when she has nothing else to do, because he can “breathe” better now that he’s dead and doesn’t sound as scary, and she likes to roll the ball around with him.

When Violet pulls herself into the attic, she’s surprised to see Beau has a visitor.

“Hey, Vi.” her father says without taking his eyes away from what he is doing.

“Hey, dad.” she responds, feeling awkward. Things are still kind of tense between them. She doesn’t really want to talk to him right now, or at all, so she turns away to walk back the ladder.

“Don’t leave, please.” Ben says, but she doesn’t listen. She steps back down the ladder and into the hallway, ignoring her father’s receding “Violet?”s.

“Tate?” she calls. He walks out of the bathroom down the hall and looks her in the eye.

She doesn’t say anything else, she just waits until Tate walks closer. She takes his hand in hers, feeling his veins and stroking her thumb along his. This is the most contact they’ve had since he slept in her bed.

Violet leads him into her room and sits him on the bed, standing over him. She decides that seems like too much of a power play and takes a seat beside him. The sentence she thought so stupid earlier now seems like a good one to use.

“When you first met me, did you love me because I’m Violet, or did you love me because I’m a girl?”

Tate glances at each eye, switching his focus until it feels like Violet will get sick trying to follow his pupils.

“Of course not.” he says, after a long enough time that it made Violet wonder if he actually knew the answer himself.

“I saw you, and you were like a beacon of light in this ugly world. You were beautiful, and funny, and you were like me. I loved you because you’re Violet Harmon, the greatest person I’ve ever met.”

How long has he been practicing that line?

Violet wants to point out how horribly cliche that sounded, even though it warmed her heart just a little, but she doesn’t. She also notices that he says were and loved in the past tense, as if he’s done with her, over her in that sense. It actually makes her want to be loved by him.

Maybe that’s his angle!

It’s sure working. Violet goes through the _Rape! Murder!_ cycle in her head a few times, still staring into his eyes. How can she ever recover from this constant heartbreak? She used to think that maybe the feeling you had when you died would stay with you forever, and she died unhappy, but in love, more or less. Now she’s unhappy and out of love, desperately wanting what she had before, but not wanting it with the person who gave it to her originally.

“Violet? Are you okay?” Tate asks, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Huh? Yeah.” she replies, looking to the floor.

“I’m gonna leave you alone for a while, okay? You seem off.” Tate says, standing from the bed and giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head before walking towards the door. He stops in the doorway.

“Call me if you need me.”

“‘Kay.”

Tate leaves, and Violet lies on her bed, staring at the wall. Memories are flooding in her brain at high speeds and it overwhelms her to the point of a headache. Her eyes fill with tears that are trying to force themselves out. She blinks and her eyes are blurred, so she blinks again and the first tear falls, rolling down the side of her cheek and onto the comforter.

They flow, and flow, and Violet begins to cry about everything: her parents, Tate, being dead, anything and everything she can think of she ever said to anyone that she regretted. She curls into a ball.

“Tate.” she whispers, just barely loud enough for her to hear it herself. Violet feels a hand on her shoulder.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I need you.”

 

 


	4. I Give You All A Girl Can Give You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life (death) advice from Vivian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to post this chapter! It's more of a filler; the next chapter will (hopefully) be more to your liking. Either way, enjoy!

Violet doesn’t know what to call their relationship, her and Tate’s. They aren’t exactly dating, but when she was crying and he came, he held her much closer to his heart than he probably normally would have, if it were someone else. Though, his heart technically isn’t beating anymore, but that’s not the point.

She wants to kiss him again.

_Rape!_

She wants to have him--

_Murder!_

That tactic is honestly starting to wear off. She needs it to keep working. She can’t let herself fall into his grasp any more than she already has.

Violet wants to kill him. She wants to kill herself.

_Oh, wait, she already did that. How’d that work out?_

These emotions are overwhelming, Violet just wants to get _rid_ of them, but she _can’t_ , because being dead is literally hell and all it wants her to do is burn from the inside out. The torture should have been over.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Go away.” Violet mumbles, not as a command, but as a plea.

“It’s your mom, Vi, can I come in?”

“I guess.”

The door cracks open, revealing Vivian, looking tired and worn. Violet forgets how much of a toll this ordeal has taken on her mother. First a miscarriage, then catching Ben cheating, moving across the country, being unknowingly raped, becoming pregnant with twins of two different fathers, almost being murdered, being put in a psych ward, giving birth three months early, one baby stillborn, the other being the child of her daughter’s boyfriend and possibly the devil himself, and dying afterwards. Not to mention, Violet’s depression didn’t help her one bit.

God, now she feels guilty for being a shitty kid.

Vivian takes gentle steps toward the bed, almost as if she’s afraid Violet will reject her and send her away. It makes perfect sense, which stings Violet’s heart.

“How are you?” her mother asks.

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

Violet realizes there’s no point in lying anymore.

“...No.”

Vivian smiles, “That’s what I thought.” She places her hand on Violet’s shoulder. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Violet replies. She doesn’t want to burden her. She’s worried enough.

“Come on, Vi. You never let me help.”

“Fine.” says Violet. She thinks for a moment before continuing. “When you caught dad cheating, why didn’t you leave him?”

“Is this really what’s got you all worked up?” Vivian asks, but when she doesn’t get a response, dismisses it, saying, “He’s the father of my only daughter. I just thought, ‘we can’t do this to Violet’. And I knew, deep down, that he still loved me, and that we could get past this.”

“That worked out well.” Violet mumbles under her breath.

“I know, I know. But it was worth a try. It always is.”

“Always?” Violet makes eye contact with her mom for the first time since she walked into the room.

Vivian nods. She pulls herself from Violet’s bed and exits the room, leaving Violet stuck with her thoughts.


	5. Take My Tears And That's Not Nearly All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet can't be angry with him. Violet _has_ to be angry with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord, it's been such a long time since I've updated! I'm so sorry!! I actually had this chapter finished a while ago so here it is!! Enjoy, while I do my best to continue the fic!!

“Tate?” Violet yells from her place on her bed, knees tucked under her chin. She’s been sitting here for quite a while, since her mother left the room, and thinking maybe love is worth all the pain, especially if it’s the only love she’ll get.

Tate decides to actually walk through the door for once, surprising Violet, who had turned around, expecting to see him behind her like usual.

“Hey.” he says.

“Hey.” Violet breathes in response. For some reason, everytime she sees him she feels simultaneously like she’s floating on a cloud and getting punched in the gut. Her stomach is turning, her eyes blurring, her heart is doing somersaults and her head hurts, hurts...

"Shhh...it's okay." Tate says, his voice soft, and when her eyes open, his tear-blurred image ripples as he sits on the bed. He places a hand on her shoulder lightly, sending shivers up her arm.

"I'm dead, Tate," Violet sniffles, "and because of you, it's an eternal Hell."

"Don't say that..." Tate replies in an encouraging tone, quite out of place in Violet's opinion.

"Why? So you can feel better about all the things you did to my family? To all the people in this house?"

"You've got to let that go, Vi. You found out about all of that over half a year ago. It's not good to hold on to that kind of stuff." Tate places his other hand on Violet’s empty shoulder.

"Says you! You should have let fucking Nora's dream die!" Violet screams in his face.

"But then I wouldn't be with you forever."

"You're not even 'with me'! These moments of affection we have are just because I'm lonely and vulnerable!" Violet lies. She knows, deep down, that yes, _she fucking still loves Tate Langdon_.

"Violet--"

"What do you even want from me, anyways? Sex? Forgiveness? Constant reassurance that you're ‘not all that bad'?"

"A smile." Tate’s face is starting to disgust her, his little hopeful grin.

"Fuck off."

"You're not making me go away again, are you?" Tate’s face drops.

"Is that what you're afraid of?"

"Yes." Tate mumbles. "You're all I want. You're all I have. Remember?"

"That's not what you were thinking when you _raped_ my mother!" Violet screams at the top of her lungs. This argument has drained her to the point where her throat is burning and her head hurts. She curls into a ball at the foot of her bed, a few tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." Tate whispers, kneeling at the edge of the bed so his face is level with Violet's weak body. He places a hand on her back, and she is too worn to even attempt to shrug it off.

"I love you, you know. I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn't want you to be stuck here. But now you are, and there's nothing we can do about it. I just want you to be as happy as possible in this situation."

"Thank you." Violet responds, her voice shaky.

"Can I join you?" Tate asks, gesturing to the bed. Violet lifts her head, looks him in the eyes, and after a minute, nods.

Tate stands from his knees before walking to the head of the bed and lying down there. He looks down at Violet and holds out his arms to convince her to come closer. She does so, craving human touch, though she wouldn't use human as a word to describe Tate Langdon.

Violet slides up between his legs until her head is on his chest. She can feel his stomach rising and falling with unnecessary breaths, and though they are erratic, she finds a steady comfort in them. Tate kisses the top of her head.

"I will always be here." he says.

"Obviously."


	6. Now I Know I've Got To Run Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet reconnects with two important people in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for 100+ kudos's!! It means so much to me that so many people enjoy this fic!! So to thank you, this one is quite a bit longer than usual (and I might keep it this way)!!

The power to the house has been cut off. It's been so long since anyone's wanted to see the house. Violet was taking a scalding hot bath when it happened, the lights just shut off. There was a scream. She later found out that was Hayden.

Now there's no light, there's nothing in the fridge, and there's no temperature control. Of course, there are people here who have endured this before, so it must be bearable. It’s not like she can die or anything.

Who knows how long it’s gonna be before the water gets shut off, too, which again, would probably have no real effect on her life (death) but suck like hell.

_Oh, fuck! She can’t use her iPod anymore! Fuck fuck fuck!_

She kicks the side of her bed and runs to turn it off so she doesn’t waste the battery left on it. She winces in pain.

"I _hate_ this shitty house!" she screams, her voice scratching against her throat. She's so close to just kicking everything and starting a full on tantrum. A hand wraps around her arm, slowing her movements for a moment until she realizes who grabbed her and struggles against the grip.

"Dad! Let me go!" Violet yells. 

Ben doesn't look angry. He seems calm. His breathing is steady and his mouth is a flat line, as opposed to a full on frown.

"Vi," Ben says, his voice instantly bringing a wave of calm over Violet, as much as she'd rather "die" than admit. "Vi, it's not worth it. You'll just break things you want and then you'll feel even more imprisoned."

Violet wants to scoff, or even spit, but he's right. What if she tore her favorite books apart? Her dad releases his grip.

"I think it's time for a little therapy session, don't you think?" he asks, sitting on her bed.

"I don't want to be part of your stupid psychoanalysis." she mutters.

"You've got nothing better to do." Ben replies, "Besides, maybe I can convince some others to join in -- not at the same time of course, but just a few others so you don't feel so weird going to post-death counselling sessions. Sadly, I can't get you any meds unless Ms. Langdon is willing to go through Hell to get them." 

Violet closes her eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just don't get all 'doctor-y' on me." she says. She just wants him to leave at this point.

"Thanks, Vi. I know you don't think so, but this means a lot to me." Ben stands from the bed and pats Violet on her shoulder. "Love you."

Violet mumbles something that sounds like "Love you, too."

After Ben closes the door like a true father, Violet flops onto her bed and sighs, tucking her arms behind her head. She looks at the ceiling for a while, thinking.

"Tate?" she calls. The door opens a minute or two later. She sits up to see his timid face looking back at her. With all he's done, she'd think that he wouldn't look so afraid of her.

"Hey," he says. 

"Has my dad talked to you yet?" Violet cuts to the point.

"No...should I go talk to him?" Tate points a thumb behind him at the door.

"It's fine. He'll see you sooner or later in this shit-hole."

"Hey! I used to live here!" Tate replies, offended. Violet looks surprised before he cracks a smile and laughs. Violet joins in.

"So did I, you ass." she says between laughs. She beckons him to join her on her bed.

Tate sits beside her, and Violet lies back down and tucks a pillow behind her head. He looks at her awkwardly, and she pulls him down with her and grabs the other pillow for him to use. 

"I wish we had some of those glow in the dark stars. You know, the ones that are green and you charge them in the daylight and then they look real pretty at night." Violet says, her eyes darting around the ceiling as she imagines the effect they would have.

"I could get Constance -- Mom, to get us some. We could make it a whole house event if you wanted. Everyone gets a star and puts it wherever they want." Tate suggests.

"Yeah, but there's always that one asshole who won't stick it in this room, they'll stick it to the toilet seat or some stupid shit." Violet snorts at the thought.

"Then maybe just you and me?" Tate asks, turning his head to look at her. His face is really close to her own.

Violet turns to face him. "Yeah. You and me."

Tate leans in and _Oh, shit, he's going in for a kiss._ Violet tucks her head in his shoulder before his lips even grace hers. This isn't the right moment.

"I want to leave, Tate. I want to be gone. I want to be dead. _Really_ dead." Violet says into the crook of his neck.

A hand rests on her back and rubs it a little.

"Me, too."

"No offense, Tate, but I didn't do anything shitty to end up dead. Yeah, I killed myself, but I'm not, like, a school shooter or anything." Violet says and immediately knows she went to far. Her eyes widen, though Tate can't see them. The hand stops rubbing her back.

"Shit, Tate, I'm sorry."

"You're right. I deserve to be here. I deserve to live constantly knowing I murdered the fuck out of some ungrateful bastards and that I'm absolute shit." Violet can't tell if he's being serious or sarcastic. Either way, it scares her. 

She lifts her head to look at him. His face is still, but tears are swelling in his eyes.

"Shh, Tate, I'm sorry. Everyone deserves peace." Violet says, wiping the few falling tears from his eyes.

"I love you, I'm sorry." Tate says, making Violet stop and glance between both of his eyes. 

He's got to be the worst person she's ever met, and yet he's the only person who's ever made her feel fluttery and all that stupid shit on the inside. Maybe she's meant to be with sociopath. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be the whole time.

"Fuck it." she whispers and connects her lips with Tate's.


End file.
